


Well, Well, Well...

by fantom_ftnoise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Puns, Banter, Crude References, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Swearing, farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantom_ftnoise/pseuds/fantom_ftnoise
Summary: On their third anniversary, Harry leads Draco on a wild chase. Nine hours of terrible riddles and international Portkeys, and it all comes back to the farm.





	Well, Well, Well...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsundanire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/gifts).



> Thank you to [tsundanire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire) for the prompt: "Why did I think this would go well?"
> 
> (It turned into A Thing, so I posted it.)
> 
>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)

"Well, well, well." Harry chuckled where he leaned against an antique well. He was clearly feeling superior despite his perpetually wrecked hair. Draco lifted his chin defiantly. "Look who finally decided to show up."

 

"I'd have gotten here faster if someone knew how to string together a proper riddle," Draco grumbled, picking a stray twig out of his jumper. His _cashmere_ jumper. "Number Three sent me to Moscow, Potter, not Glasgow!"

 

"Only if you solved it wrong." Harry grinned wickedly. He was enjoying this far too much and now, Merlin forbid, he was whipping out a long scroll of parchment with an annoying little flourish. "Number Three - " he cleared his throat " - our third date."

 

"The Moscow Ballet - "

 

" - performed in Glasgow - "

 

"- by Russian dancers - "

 

" - in a Scottish theatre - "

 

" - from Russia!"

 

" - in Glasgow."

 

Draco glared at him hotly - or as hotly as one could while standing in an open field. In February. In fucking _Wales_.

 

"Why. Am I. Here." He saw Harry's face fall but he couldn't care less. He was near seething at this point. Nine hours of being whisked away all over the world by clumsy riddles and questionably attained Portkeys! He was not in the mood for any more games.

 

"I - I, w-well - " Harry stammered and Draco's eyes flicked to the stone well he was perched on.

 

"Enough bloody puns!" he growled. "This hasn't turned out to be one of our better anniversaries, Potter, let's just get it done - whatever game this is - so I can go home." Preferably _alone_. He could use some time to himself after today. A hot bath would be nice. Banishing the water straight onto Harry's side of the bed would be even better.

 

Harry looked well and truly pitiful, but, ever the Gryffindor, he was still trying to salvage the moment:

 

"Do you remember this farm?"

 

"This farm?" Draco looked around theatrically, eyes wide. "You mean the farm we were both sequestered to for six agonizing months after a string of attempts on our lives? The farm we were meant to keep running in the absence of its tenants and which we subsequently ran into the ground? The farm my funds paid Longbottom to revive after we were through with it, _that farm, Potter?"_

 

Harry bared his teeth in a weak grimace. Draco barely waited for his meek "yes" before he was off again.

 

"Oh yes, _of course,_ I remember now! This little farm started it all, didn't it? Started a whirlwind romance that has lasted three years only to land us right back here. Back on the farm. Yes. Might I remind you that I'm wearing my best jumper, as per your request? And you have me standing next to - " he ran a finger along the edge of the stone wall " - algae!"

 

Harry's grimace twitched into something else and Draco scoffed. Now wasn't the time for _smiling_. Now was the time for hysterics! All he wanted out of today was a lazy morning, a late breakfast, maybe some flying, and to catch a show after supper at his favorite restaurant. Instead he was led on a wild niffler chase all over the northern hemisphere. In _February_.

 

" _Well_ ," Harry said, as if testing the waters. "We had our first kiss here..."

 

"We had our first fuck in the barn," Draco grunted, stamping his feet to bring feeling back into his toes. "I recall it being much warmer in there." He didn't actually want to go to the barn. It was filthy there. The hay would ruin his jumper beyond even magical repair.

 

"Do you remember how the heating charms on the house wouldn't hold, so we were forced to share a bed?" Harry asked innocently. Draco stilled.

 

"Yes, I seem to recall something like that..." Of course he remembered, he was the one to dismantle the heating charms every night while Harry wasn't looking.

 

"And how you insisted that I muck out the hippogriff stables every day because you're deathly afraid of them, but somehow all of them seemed to adore you? And your pockets?"

 

"Yet another example of unexplained phenomena," Draco said agreeably, as if he hadn't spent every early morning sneaking behind Harry's back to bribe the beasts with charred meat. It had all been a ploy, of course, to impress Harry later with his newfound courage and animal prowess.

 

"And do you remember how, when Kingsley sent a letter saying we could come out of hiding, you hid the message for another week so we could stay a little longer?"

 

"Yes, I - " Draco faltered. Harry wasn't supposed to know about that. He had come to his senses soon enough, racked with guilt for ruining the Chosen Idiot's life with an extra week in rural solitude, but it was his most closely guarded secret of all his farm tricks. "You - you knew?"

 

"I found the letter three days before it 'arrived.'"

 

Draco felt his face flush; his cheeks were hot against the frigid air. Harry was grinning again in that stupid smug way he had when he thought he'd bested Draco.

 

"If you found the letter, why didn't _you_ say anything?" Draco countered.

 

"I guess I wanted a few more rolls in the hay before we went back to our lives."

 

Draco snorted inadvertently and looked away, firmly clamping down against the smile that tugged at his lips. He would _not_ reward Potter's puerile puns. And because he was looking away, he missed the moment Harry sank down onto the frosted ground, on one knee.

 

But there he was, shivering in a jacket too thin for kneeling in an open field in February, his gloveless hands wrapped around a simple black velvet box.

 

Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. Harry was grinning widely, all smugness left behind for teary green eyes and a reprehensible level of sincerity. Harry was saying something, but the ringing in Draco's ears drowned it out. He remembered kissing Harry at this dried up well years ago. It was cold then, too - just past Christmas, in fact. And he remembered kissing Harry in their new home months ago, surrounded by old photos and new furniture. And, as if watching a memory in a pensieve, he saw himself reach out and haul Harry to his feet now, cramming their lips together in a heated kiss that could melt any frost.

 

The world spun, the sky tipped - his thighs hit the stone wall behind them and then they were stumbling - grappling - falling -

 

They landed in a tangled heap on soft, muddy ground, the overcast sky appearing as just a ring of light above. Harry swore and Draco whined, their voices bouncing off the surrounding stones. His jumper was most certainly ruined.

 

 **"Why did I think this would go well?"** came Harry's muffled, miserable groan, his face planted in the grimy muck. Rattled, Draco didn't even catch the pun this time.

 

Draco sat up gingerly, prodding his own side to test for broken ribs. All seemed fine, unfortunately. He could only imagine the top-rate whinging he would be entitled to if his fiancé had broken him with his proposal.

 

Fiancé!

 

They were fiancés!

 

Engaged! To be married!

 

"Potter!"

 

"What?!" Harry cried in alarm, prying his mud-caked face out of the ground. In the dim light, Draco could just barely make out the streaks of sludge coating his bent glasses.

 

"Fiancé!" he said, unable to articulate a response worthy of this momentous occasion. A Malfoy and a Potter, _engaged!_ It was one for the history books!

 

"Er, so that's a yes, right?" Harry asked, then promptly gagged. He retched slightly and spat out a lump of muck. A brown trail of spittle hung from his chin. Disgusting. His fiancé was disgusting.

 

"I - well, _yes!"_ he spluttered, reaching out with the sleeve of his ruined jumper to wipe Harry's chin.

 

"Well, well, well," Harry whispered, staring at him in awe. "Look who's making puns now!"

**Author's Note:**

>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)


End file.
